


Outside the Law

by InterstellarVagabond



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), and hurt/comfort, eventual angst, polyam connor markus and north, vigilante Connor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-06 05:57:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17934137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterstellarVagabond/pseuds/InterstellarVagabond
Summary: Despite the peaceful nature of the revolution, humans are uneasy allowing android law enforcement officers to resume their jobs. Connor finds himself out of a job he never even really had, but still itching to solve mysteries, collect evidence, get the bad guy. So he takes the streets. By day a layabout unemployed android who warms the couch while Hank is at work, by night a mysterious and possibly dangerous vigilante. When coming home bleeding from bullet wounds and running on half battery all day become more and more common, how long can he keep his secret hidden?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I could not think of a fucking title for this one and I don't even know if like the one I settled on sadlffslkajdsj
> 
> those of you who follow me on tumblr know I DO NOT need another wip right now but this idea just got to me man, so I don't know how regular updates are gonna be but hopefully I won't leave you hanging too long.  
> Haven't decided if I'm gonna put my usual rk1k in here or not, kinda wanna keep the focus tight, but if you guys really want it lemme know and maybe I'll add it

The docks were deceptively quiet, the silence of nighttime masking the activities being carried out between empty shipping containers and chain link fences. Two groups of heavily armed men, loading coolers of red ice into the back of a moving truck, exchanged cash and wary looks. Neither group was aware they were being watched by a lone figure, who slipped down a rusted ladder from the rooftops above. 

He was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans, a dark mask obscured his face from the nose down leaving only his eyes visible, scanning the area with careful attention.

The figure dropped to the ground, silently, taking calculated steps which balanced his weight and avoided loose stones or other objects which might announce his presence with sound. He hid himself behind a stack of shipping crates, peeking out to watch as the men continued loading up the drugs. The transaction was complete, the suppliers would be leaving he had to act now.

The figure rushed the group, disarming the first person he passed with ease and using their gun to lay down warning fire at the feet of the others. When they swore and scrambled, the figure knocked one of the suppliers out with the butt of the weapon before disabling it and tossing it aside. 

Gunshots rang out, and the figure ran for cover again. He followed the bullet’s path back to the shooter and with a series of graceful movements vaulted the crate they were hiding behind and took them out. 

The fight went quickly, the figure seeming to have no trouble with multiple armed assailants and sustaining minimal damage. At one point a bullet hit his shoulder, and he was quick to cover it with one hand but his flinch seemed almost too dramatic. 

Regardless, the figure soon had each supplier and dealer on the ground, unconscious. He would have begun binding their arms and legs with the zip-ties he carried on his person, but at that moment the truck they’d been loading the drugs into roared to life and drove straight for him. 

The figure dodged quickly, managing to only get clipped by the truck as he rolled to safety. The figure swore as he recovered, taking off running after the truck at inhuman speed. He had to catch that truck, and more importantly the cargo of dangerous drugs it carried. 

Climbing to the rooftops once more, the figure followed the trucks path through the city as it broke the speed limit and scratched several paint jobs trying to get away quick. An attempt to run a red light resulted in a swerve onto the sidewalk that cost them some time as they tried to get back to fleeing, and it was just enough time for the figure to drop down onto the top of the truck. 

“Fuck, fuck, this guy is crazy!” the driver cried out, pulling back onto the road and speeding off hoping to shake his unwelcome passenger with some reckless driving. However, the figure held his balance as he made his way in a crouch towards the front of the truck. He lowered himself to the hood, and pulled back his fist. The driver barely had time to cover his face before the fist came shattering through the windshield. 

Without hands on the wheel the truck swerved again, but the figure quickly grabbed the wheel as they forced themselves through the broken windshield. The driver tried to fight back, but the figure just threw an elbow into the side of his head that smashed him against the window and sent him slumping downwards. 

The figure hit the brakes, bringing the truck to a screeching halt. The drugs were secure.

The figure secured the driver’s hands to the steering wheel before leaving the truck, popping the hood and sabotaging the engine just in case. There was still time to return to the docks and restrain the criminals there, then leave an anonymous tip and disappear before the police showed up. 

**Mission Accomplished**

  
  


The figure did indeed do these things: restrain the criminals, call in a tip, and then disappear, but one able of following him would have seen him take a path across rooftops and back alleys to wait for a taxi. A rather mundane ending to a night of vigilante justice and violence. 

The taxi was hacked, its logs for the past ten minutes wiped, as it drove its passenger to a humble house on Michigan Drive. The figure stepped out of the taxi, hood and mask being pulled away as he entered and greeted the St. Bernard sleeping by the door with an affectionate pat on the head. 

He made his way to the room he’d been given by the owner of the house several months ago when it became clear he had nowhere else to go, carefully folding his mask and hiding it under several piles of clothes in the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled off the sweatshirt, frowning at the dark stain spreading around the bullet hole in the shoulder. That’s why he wore black, no one could tell what color the blood was that way. 

The bullet in his shoulder was the more urgent matter, so Connor balled up the sweatshirt and hid it under his bed to deal with later. 

Sumo, awake now that the member of his household that had snuck out had finally returned, padded to the bathroom where Connor was removing the bullet with the aid of a technician’s kit. 

Connor grunted slightly as he pulled the bullet free. While pain was still a strange and vague concept for deviant androids, an uncertain realm of what constituted as nerve endings and if data could be sensation, the feeling was very unpleasant. Not quite as unpleasant as when it went in though.

“Getting shot is not as easy anymore,” Connor remarked to Sumo, who wagged his tail at the sound of his friend’s voice. 

Connor ran a diagnostic on the damaged area, finding which thirium lines he had to seal back together and luckily finding no shrapnel in his systems. The hole in his actual body was a problem, couldn’t fix that with a home kit. He’d have to find an excuse to get it fixed later, not that he’d have any trouble with that. Lying was one of his many features. 

Connor cleaned up any thirium he may have dripped, and put away the technicians kit in the medicine cabinet. He trusted he wouldn’t have to explain any missing supplies to Hank because he was sure Hank couldn’t be bothered to snoop around in that sort of thing. 

Repaired and with a low battery warning blinking in his HUD, Connor made his way back to his bedroom with Sumo at his heels. He wondered if the dog was worried for him, or if he just wanted to jump into Connor’s bed before all the good pillows were taken. His tired brain didn’t leave much room for thought on the matter, and he fell into recharge mode as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

  
  


Connor awoke at nine a.m. at half battery when Sumo leapt from the bed barking excitedly. He groaned, resigning himself to catching up on charge later as he left the bed to see what the dog needed.

As it turned out, Sumo wasn’t in need of anything, content on emptying his recently filled bowl. His cause for excitement must have been hearing the kibble hit the ceramic when Hank filled it about half a minute earlier. Hank was leaning against the counter, dressed for work with a mug of coffee in hand. He raised an eyebrow at Connor when he came in.

“Since when are you awake this early?” Connor asked, almost accusingly.

“Oh, what, I go into work late and it’s ‘Hank you’re a lieutenant you have to set a good example’ and ‘Hank you wouldn’t be too hungover to go into work if you didn’t drink so much the night before’ but the minute I started trying to show up relatively on time I’m too early for you?” Hank asked, rolling his eyes.He took a sip from his mug and then looked Connor over. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Connor returned the eye roll. The pair had found quite quickly during their living arrangement that once free from the programmed social protocols and need to please, Connor sometimes bordered on sharing Hank’s attitude and smart mouth. 

Connor grabbed some thirium from the cabinet, his levels low from being shot and from the recharging process. Hank turned on the TV, eyeing Connor out of the corner of his eye as the android put away more thirium than usual. Before he could comment on it, the news grabbed his attention.

“Ah man, not this fucker again,” Hank groaned at the images of bound drug dealers edited in by the reporter’s head. 

Connor’s LED went yellow as he turned up the volume.

“... once again all cameras in the area were wiped, leaving no footage of the vigilante, but witnesses describe him as a man in dark clothes and mask,” the reporter said. “The criminals were found in possession of a sizable amount of the illegal drug red ice, which authorities say despite the unorthodox arrest may be enough to put them away for a long time.”

“You know how long I was working that case?” Hank shouted. “Four fucking months, Connor. Four months! Then some dipshit who thinks he’s Batman swoops in and busts them in the middle of a deal?”

“To be fair, I doubt this vigilante is constrained by the law as much as you are,” Connor said. 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Hank growled. “Look, the cops ain’t perfect, only reason I became one in the first place is because of how shitty they are and my idealistic ideas about making ‘em better, but we don’t really get the chance to try with idiots like that messing with evidence and breaking people’s legs before they even hear from a lawyer.”

Connor thought to himself that the evidence had looked rather untouched when he left the scene, and that he had broken approximately 3 legs no more. That was a decent ratio of broken to unbroken legs if he thought so himself.

“The vigilante has sparked a social media buzz, with people showing support or anger for his actions,” the reporter continued. “One user in favor of the vigilante has started a poll that has spread across the internet, in an attempt to decide upon a ‘superhero name’ for Detroit’s shadowy do-gooder.”

“God,” Hank rolled his eyes. “Combination thriller and fluff piece for these people. I’m going to work, if I keep watching this I’m gonna lose it.”

“Well, I would help you find it,” Connor replied, deadpan. 

Hank smirked, flicking Connor in the temple for his joke, before putting his mug in the sink. 

“Take care of Connor, Sumo,” Hank said, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears. “I think he’s starting to get cabin fever stuck here with nothing to do.”

“I am in capable paws,” Connor remarked dryly, only a little insulted that the creature which growled at its own reflection was in charge of him. 

Hank waved before grabbing his keys and heading out the door. Connor watched him go with a stab of envy in his chest. 

Android rights were growing by the day, through the effort of the Jericho team with Markus at the head they were making great strides. However, while most humans were eager to allow androids the right to work again as they’d lost more than half their employees during the revolution, law enforcement was a different matter.

Thanks to a ruling made in fear of the revolution, androids were not currently allowed to hold professions in the law enforcement field. Humans wanted humans to be the ones with guns and authority in case of another “robot uprising.” Connor could have taken the loss in stride, hoping for a better tomorrow and getting a temporary job bagging groceries but he wasn’t programmed to bag groceries and he found the very idea irritatingly dull.

He knew he could make a difference, could make the world safer, and selfishly he liked solving a case. He liked following leads, gathering evidence, and fighting the bad guy. He didn’t know if that was his program or who he was, but it affected him so strongly that one night when Hank passed out on the couch with a case file on the coffee table Connor couldn’t help but get involved.

He scanned the information into his memory, visited crime scenes after dark, and before he knew it he was confronting the man Hank had been looking for. 

It was an incredible feeling, waking up the next morning to see the criminal he’d located and caught had been arrested. He wanted to do it again, so he visited Hank during his lunch break and downloaded the DPD most wanted database with a subtle hand on the right computer. He didn’t mean to frustrate Hank, but he didn’t see any real harm in what he was doing.

Criminals were put away, Connor got his fix of mystery, and Sumo got someone to nap with the next day when his battery was depleted from pulling longer hours well into the night. 

Connor did a quick search for the naming poll the reporter had mentioned, smirking at some of the options. He didn’t really mind which they settled on, though he was a little adverse to ‘Fistman’ as were most of the voters judging by its 2% tally. Closing out the poll, he moved to the couch where he fell with a sigh and muted the TV. Sumo sensed naptime incoming, and quickly hopped up onto Connor’s chest, a position any human would find uncomfortable. 

“Remember, you’re in charge,” Connor reminded the dog sternly as he stared into Connor’s eyes, tail wagging. Closing his eyes, Connor let himself drift back to what most deviant androids were starting to consider ‘sleep.’


	2. Chapter 2

“I just think it’s helpful to have someone who’s not bound by the rules,” North said, running a thumb over the quarter in her grip before flicking it over to Connor. He snatched it out of the air, remaining silent as Markus answered her opinion.

“People who are above the rules can’t be held accountable for their actions,” he said.

“So far he only ever seems to attack people who have done wrong,” North pointed out.

“And maybe he always will,” Markus said. “But maybe one day he won’t prove to be so moral, or maybe he’ll make a mistake. The law isn’t perfect, far from it, but at least there’s some chance of accountability.”

Connor rolled his coin over his knuckles, flicking it back to North who sat next to him on the couch. She rolled it over her knuckles, and tossed it to her other hand.

“Well, I know there’s at least one thing we can agree on with this guy,” North said. Markus, who was lounging in a chair on the other side of the break room, sat up with interest. “What’s that?”

“Good, bad,” North shrugged, “he’s got an ass that’s nice to look at either way.”

Luckily, the choked sound of surprise Connor made was masked by Markus’s laughter, though he was so distracted that the coin North flicked back at him passed right through his fingers and hit the floor where it rolled to a stop. He ran after it, collecting the coin while North and Markus laughed. 

“Okay, you got me there,” Markus said. 

The three androids were taking a break from the endless planning and work that kept New Jericho running. Connor often stopped by to volunteer his help, or to simply spend time with Markus and North. He’d grown close to the two others since the revolution, and enjoyed spending time with them. Today he’d shown up too late to help with whatever project had the leadership of Jericho busy, but just in time to find Markus and North taking a break and discussing a topic which involved Connor personally.

“What do you think, Connor?” Markus asked, watching as Connor made his way back to the couch coin in hand. “You’re a man of the law you must have an opinion on this.”

Connor, being a specialized and advanced model, was programmed to be very good at lying. He betrayed no nervous tics, spoke with confidence, and easily invented stories. 

“I think that law enforcement in Detroit has been suffering since the revolution, and that it opens the way for vigilantes such as him. They will continue to become the norm until the current form of criminal justice is repaired,” he said.

“That’s so not what he asked,” North said. “You won’t offend us picking a side, you know.”

Connor chuckled, slowly starting to fidget with his coin again. “I’m not sure how to feel about him. You both make excellent points, he’s doing good but for how long? How can we trust a man who answers to no laws and hides his identity? But, how can we turn down the help we sorely need?”

“You’re still kissing both our asses,” North said, rolling her eyes and giving Connor a playful shove.

“Never hurts to have a middle ground,” Markus said, standing and putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Especially between our two extremes.”

Connor thought to himself on the way home that between North and Markus was altogether not a bad place to be. Whether between their two extremes, or simply walking between them as they escorted him to his cab, chatting and finding little excuses to lay hands on his shoulders. He also thought about how news of his nightly activities had become well-known enough for even people as busy and focused as Markus and North to hear about. He’d have to keep a lower profile. 

He managed to have an excuse for visiting the DPD headquarters, thanks to Hank’s shift ending. If anyone found it suspicious of Connor to take a cab to ‘pick Hank up’ only for Hank to drive him home, no one said anything. Nor did anyone seem to notice when he put a hand to what had once been his terminal and downloaded the updated databases. 

He frowned down at the desk as the download began. Part of having emotions meant being more easily distracted from the task at hand. What could have been simple espionage and data collection prompted sad nostalgia and opened memory files of him and Hank working together on the deviancy case. Even if now he regretted his actions against the deviancy cause, he still missed working as Hank’s partner. 

“Ready to get out of here?” Hank asked, shooting Fowler one last rude gesture as he grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. 

“Yes,” Connor answered, pulling his hand away from the terminal. 

In the car, Hank grumbled about work and the change in assignments. “They’ve got me looking for that dick in black, took my homicide away from me and gave it to Reed. People are dying and they want me to bring them pictures of Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man?” Connor asked, head tilting.

“Pop culture, Connor, learn it already,” Hank said. “Point is, I’m stuck chasing this guy.”

“I see,” Connor said evenly. 

They pulled into the driveway, and got bowled over by Sumo’s enthusiastic welcome at the front door as usual. Hank poured himself a drink, and Connor didn’t stop him. He felt a little guilty about it, but he knew Hank would go to bed earlier if he’d had something to drink, and he needed to get out earlier than usual. The databases had been full of new cases, he wanted to get started as quickly as possible. 

He waited, watching crime shows with Hank, until he heard the human’s soft snoring. He quickly got up, sock covered feet hitting carpet too soft to make a noise. He went to his room, changing out of the oversized DPD hoodie he’d permanently borrowed from Hank and the worn blue jeans he’d picked up at a Goodwill into the dark clothes of his night job. He passed on the gun he had hidden away in his dresser, he never brought that with him. Bullets were evidence, evidence he couldn’t afford to leave behind. 

He should have left through the window, but he had an irrational need to check on Hank before he left. He kept his mask lowered as he turned off the TV, pulled a blanket over Hank, and replaced his whiskey glass with a water for when he woke up. Then he headed for the front door.

“Where are you headed?”

Connor froze, turning back to Hank. His eyelids were half open, he was half-asleep or drunk or both. 

“Sumo seemed restless, I’m taking him for a walk,” Connor lied quickly, hoping Hank would not notice Sumo sleeping at his feet. His hopes were answered, as Hank grunted and turned over to go back to sleep. Sumo whined at Connor, as if disapproving of his part in the android’s lie. 

“Quiet, Sumo,” Connor sighed. “I’ll be back. Stay with him.”

 

The Neon Moon bar and club was busy, enough so that no one noticed another figure in the crowd. Connor slipped by easily, his mask just another bizarre fashion choice for the assembled dancers in leather and fur. He went to the bar, leaning there casually and becoming just another part of the scenery. It was there he waited for his informant-to-be to step inside and make himself known. 

Iggy “loose lips” Larson was a familiar face at the club, and received a dozen high fives or other more familiar forms of greeting as he made his way to the bar. 

“Gimme a mule!” Iggy called to the bartender, winking. 

The bartender turned around to fix the drink, and by the time he turned around to serve it Iggy was gone.

 

Iggy hit the wall with a grunt as the air was driven out of him. Rain fell into his eyes, making it all the harder to see his attacker. He scrambled backwards on the pavement, narrowly dodging a fist which connected with the wall by his head. Somehow, he felt it wasn’t the dodging that had saved him. That if the masked man standing over him had wanted to hit him, he would have. 

“Android kidnappings. Talk.” 

Connor made sure to alter his voice, scrambling and deepening it to make it unrecognizable from his own. 

“Whaaaaat?” Iggy laughed nervously. “Android kidnappings? Is that a thing? A thing that’s happening around here? Get outta town.”

“You’re making me impatient,” Connor growled, grabbing Iggy by the front of his shirt and lifting him. 

“Oh jeez, I don’t wanna do that,” Iggy said, legs kicking underneath him. “Listen, you know what, lemme help you out, huh? I’ll tell you what you wanna know just… you gotta be more specific man. It’s Detroit. Who ain’t kidnapping androids?”

“Would I be asking you if I thought it was someone you didn’t know?” Connor asked, shaking Iggy a little to make him squirm.

“Alright, alright!” Iggy groaned. “You don’t have to be mean… look all I know is one of my hookups has been moving a lotta androids to the old factory down near Eastpointe. I don’t know what they need ‘em for or what they’re doing so don’t ask.”

“You’ve been very helpful,” Connor said, dropping Iggy right before slamming his elbow into the side of his head. Iggy dropped to a heap on the ground, no longer a concern.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, trying to write for fun and not worry about making it perfect for once: hhhhh where is the quality

 

Connor watched as a van pulled up to the factory, down near the shipping yard where once crates of whatever product the long defunct company had once sold were loaded up and shipped off to suppliers. A woman got out of the driver’s seat, and moved to the back of the van where she was joined by a few others who had been leaning against the building smoking cigarettes or making idle conversation. 

The woman opened the back of the van and one by one the others pulled prone android forms out of the vehicle. Connor’s scanners were limited at this range, but he could tell the androids were unharmed aside from the paralyzing effect of the drives in their neck ports. Connor was well familiar with those drives, they were experimental, designed to pacify and stabilize deviants. They’d never made it past the trial period, though the revolution had hurried their production. With Cyberlife falling apart it made sense that former employees laid off would try to make some extra cash selling such items on the black market. Now they’d found their way to these kidnappers. 

Connor shuddered, a hand moving to the back of his neck. He’d only experienced the feeling once, when a clumsy researcher had mistaken him for one of the trial subjects during a routine observation. He remembered the emptiness, the cold frozen position of his limbs, and how his handlers had thrown a fit and spent the rest of the day testing his functions to make sure there had been no permanent damage. Fifteen seconds of immobility and a day of poking and prodding had been nothing to a machine, but the memory to a living being was torturous enough to elicit sympathy for the victims below. 

Connor moved from his hunched position on the rooftop, going from a gargoyle silhouette to moving shadow. He dropped down carefully, circling the gathering and watching as they led the androids into the building. It was easy to follow them, as they were too busy moving the androids to keep watch behind them. 

 

The factory was dark inside, lit sparsely here and there. The humans set down the androids they carried and stretched sore muscles while Connor found a place in the former observation deck.

“Jeezus how old is this model?” one of the humans asked, kicking at BV500. “We probably can’t even sell it for parts.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” the driver said. “Without my old contact we get what we get.”

“Whatever happened to the Russian anyway?” the other human asked. 

“Dead, or so I heard,” the driver said. “Doesn’t matter, if we wanna keep this business going we can’t waste time with dead Russians. Get these things to the wiper, we need ‘em in factory settings by morning.”

The driver took an offered cigarette from one of her fellows, and headed for the door while the others started carrying androids to another room. Seeing them split up was good news for Connor, who was outnumbered for the moment. 

He went for one of the ones carrying androids first, pulling him into the shadows and holding him around the neck till he went limp. He pulled the drive from the android’s neck and motioned for them to keep quiet. A connection gave too much away, even if he was careful not to reveal anything from his side it would confirm he was an android. The more vague his identity seemed the better.

He picked the humans off one by one, freeing the androids and silencing them with a finger over his lips before gesturing to the dark corner where he had them gathering. They were mostly older models, small and inefficent. They’d be of little help in a fight, most likely only endangering themselves. He’d have to keep them out of the way.

“Shit, Paul?”

One of the humans stumbled upon his fallen friend, shaking him before letting him go and pulling a knife. Connor stepped back into cover, calculating his next move.

“What’s going on in there?” the driver asked, stepping back inside and stubbing out her cigarette on the wall. 

“Someone’s in here,” the man said. 

“Shit.” the driver pulled a gun out of her coat, coming back to back with the other human. “You don’t think it’s that guy from the news, do you?”

“What, you mean the Hunter?” the man said. “I don’t think he really exists.” 

Which is when Connor appeared from the darkness, kicking the man’s legs out from under him. 

The driver fired her weapon, but Connor was still on the ground far below where she’d aimed. He surged upwards, clapping his palms over her ears hard enough to leave her crying out in pain and dropping her gun to clutch at her ears. His preconstruction went exactly as he planned it, unbalancing the driver next and then turning to face the man with the knife. He dodged the attack he had predicted, and landed a punch before the driver surprised him by remaining conscious and in the fight. 

Adapting to human unpredictability was one of many features offered by the RK800 line, however in order to adapt mistakes sometimes had to be made in order to learn and grow and better expect the unexpected. Connor had expected a human of her age and build to be rendered unconscious when her head hit the floor. Instead it just seemed to make her really, really mad. 

“Look out!” one of the androids shouted unhelpfully, as Connor was tackled to the ground. He kicked up at her, driving the air from her lungs and managing to free himself. He rolled out of the way, only to come into danger again when the man with the knife stabbed down at him. He felt the knife slide through his stomach, as alerts of damaged biocomponents flashed in his vision. He quickly slammed his head hard against the human’s, not wanting to risk him retrieving his knife and seeing the color of the blood.

Gunshots rang out again, the driver had clearly found her gun. Connor ran to the stairs, up to the catwalk above the scene. He located the driver and quickly vaulted over the guardrail, landing on her. With that, the struggle was over. His LED flickered yellow under his hood as he called in the usual anonymous tip, and he was so focused on his call and on dismissing the damage alerts that he didn’t notice the group of androids coming out from their hiding place to kick at the unconscious humans and approach Connor curiously.

When one of them put a hand on his shoulder he reflexively jerked away, which only seemed to frighten the BV500. He pulled his hand back, eyes flicking down to the knife still buried in Connor’s stomach. 

Connor was quick to turn away, hiding the wound. 

“Thank you,” the BV500 said. 

Connor felt a jolt of surprise, one more surprising than when the BV500’s hand had come into contact with his shoulder. He looked back over his shoulder at the gathering androids. They were looking at him with… gratitude? 

Were his LED not covered the other androids would have seen it flash red with shock as they converged upon him. 

“You’re the Hunter, right?” the BV500 said, and for a second Connor felt panic grip him tight as he wondered how they’d divined his identity. Then he remembered, the name the human had called him, the name that had risen to the top of the polls. The Hunter. 

Connor nodded stiffly.

“You’re a hero,” another android said. 

Connor considered that. Sure, he wanted to help them but that wasn’t why he started on this case. He’d needed a case to solve, something to keep his processors spinning, something to keep him busy. He needed the work, and they’d needed someone to save them it was just a lucky arrangement. He was no hero, he was the deviant hunter. If he removed his mask they’d all be afraid, they’d all recognize him as ‘the bad guy.’

“The police will be arriving shortly, stay if they can help you. Leave for New Jericho if they can’t,” he said in his disguised voice. His thirium levels were dropping too low to keep thinking about morality and intention, he had to get help. 

  
  


Connor fell through the door with even less grace than he predicted, crashing to the floor with a thud and a pained grunt. The lights came on instantly, most likely because the occupants of the room were androids who could connect wirelessly with the lights in an instant.

Connor was quick to make sure his mask had remained in place, backing up against the wall as the two androids left the bed where they’d been in rest mode, charging. 

“Who the fuck…” North had her gun out, and Connor would spare a moment to chuckle at Markus’s sigh of “you said you stopped keeping weapons in the bedroom,” if he wasn't busy staring down the gun in question. Even sleep tousled and in pajamas the pair of them were a beautiful sight. North, dangerous and awe-inspiring with her hair tied loosely behind her. Markus, managing to look soft and welcoming despite his messiah aura and the chiseled body his lack of shirt revealed.

“Please don’t scan me!” Connor was quick to say in his altered voice.

“Why shouldn’t we?” North bluffed, Connor knew her model wasn’t equipped with that sort of thing. She’d been complaining about how long it was taking to get the upgrade just yesterday. 

“We won’t,” Markus promised almost at the same time. “But you clearly need help… if we can’t scan you, it’ll be hard to help you.”

Connor took a shuddering breath, bringing in cool air to lower the temperature of overworked biocomponents. He knew he needed more than a first aid kit and somehow that had turned into him stumbling half-blind from thirium loss into Markus and North’s bedroom at New Jericho. He'd been trying to get to the repairs wing, to patch himself up. He must have gotten turned around, taken the elevator to the wrong floor and subconsciously found his friends. An android with a subconscious, that was something new. He was lucky, at least, that he hadn't come across anyone else during his clumsy journey through the tower.

Part of him was screaming out that he should turn around now and leave. Another part of him was busy realizing that Markus was putting hands on his torso.

“Easy, I’m just seeing if I can remove that knife,” Markus said when Connor flinched away. “No scans, not going to take off the mask, just trying to help.”

North lowered the gun, but kept it in hand as she leaned down to get a look too. “I’ll get some supplies from downstairs,” she said. 

“Thanks,” Markus answered.

Connor kept his gaze averted, hoping the hood and mask would be enough to keep a fellow RK unit from puzzling out his identity. Markus wasn’t made for police work exactly, but he had enough to work with that he could easily figure out who he was treating if he tried. Luckily, Markus didn’t seem to be trying. 

Always keeping to his word, honorable to a fault and kind even when it could be dangerous. It was a good thing Markus had North and her stash of hidden weapons to keep him safe. 

“Something funny?” Markus asked, and Connor realized he’d chuckled quietly to himself, fondly, about Markus. 

“Ah, no,” he said, trying to sit up straighter. He gave a gasp as the overwhelming data of the injury rushed his mind, and sank back down.

“Hey now, stay still,” Markus said. 

North returned with fresh thirium and some tools. “I don’t know how bad it is, but I figured we should patch him up before we move him down to repairs.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need that much,” Connor said.

“You’ve got a knife sticking out of a major thirium line, I’d say that’s pretty bad off,” Markus said. “North, give him some thirium and be ready to seal this hole I’m going to pull out the knife.”

Connor took the offered thirium, drinking it as Markus and North started working on the knife wound, pushing Connor’s hoodie up as far as he would let them.

“Doesn’t look like it damaged much besides the lines,” Markus said. “Hard to tell without a scan.”

“No scans,” Connor paused in drinking to say.

“No scans,” Markus repeated. “Hang on is this… do you have a bullet hole in your shoulder?”

“Why are you looking at my shoulder? The wound is in my stomach,” Connor asked.

“Pffft, why indeed,” North teased as she sealed up the thirium line. Markus rolled his eyes at her.

“I just figured someone who values secrets over safety is bound to have another few injuries,” he said. 

“It’s fine,” Connor said, glad the mask hid his blush along with his identity. “The damage is cosmetic only.”

“You should still get it patched up,” Markus said. 

“Yeah, it’s evidence,” North said, wiping thirium off her hands with a rag.

“And it’s good to take care of yourself,” Markus sighed.

“And people will ask when and where you got shot,” North said. “I’ll seal it up when I’m done here.”

Connor lay still as Markus and North fixed him up, occasionally jostling his arm to remind him he was supposed to be drinking thirium. By the time they’d finished, pulled his hoodie back down and backed off, Connor could feel himself on the brink of slipping into rest mode. He forced himself to his feet, his body needed to shut down to fully repair but he couldn’t do that here. He trusted North and Markus, he did, but if they knew who was behind the mask that would only mean trouble. Members of New Jericho’s leadership keeping a vigilante’s identity secret, that would be bad press if not legal trouble. 

“Careful.” Markus steadied Connor. “You really shouldn’t be jumping across anymore rooftops tonight.”

“Come on. There’s a spare room down the hall, it locks from the inside and no one besides the other leaders come up to this floor anyway,” North said. 

Connor tried to shake his head, but North and Markus both seized one of his arms and worked themselves under them to support him. 

“Trust us?” Markus asked. “Look, New Jericho is a place for androids in need, no matter their situation. We just want to help.”

Connor sighed, meeting North’s eyes as she gave a solemn nod. He had to admire their conviction. 

“... alright,” Connor said. “I’ll be gone by morning.”

North and Markus helped Connor into a bed, and he hated to admit it but he missed the sensation of their hands on him when they left. Alone in an unfamiliar room he was plagued with thoughts of whether or not his disguise had worked, and whether or not he deserved the gratitude and worship he’d seen in the eyes of the androids he’d saved that night. Luckily, his battery was low and he needed to shut down to run a final diagnostic, so he found it easy to leave those thoughts in favor of rest. 


End file.
